the only worse thing than a girl you hate
by stormilys
Summary: —is a girl you like. one-side Franz/Liesel, implied Rudy/Liesel.


**a request, by the dear friend. I've only seen the movie, so I hold responsibility over the inaccuracies of this fan fiction, and some German from translation. Cheska, sorry. It got longer than expected.**

* * *

**"The only thing worse than a boy who hates you: a boy that loves you."**

* * *

He doesn't mean to, sometimes.

Years of being the playground bully had transformed it into a primary instinct; the need to be a complete _arschloch_, the gratifying feeling of pride and morbid satisfaction when he's made another unfortunate bastard's life a miserable one. It made his tongue lash in the most inappropriate of times that, when he's lucky, gets him hit or punched or beat up when the breaking point happens. It's just so satisfyingly _funny_ to watch these brainless idiots cry and get flustered with anger and shake with fury.

But, really, he wasn't lying when he didn't mean to, sometimes.

It's an instinct. He…can't help himself. By the time he regains his bearings everything is already too late. _Und_ he is either sneering as his latest victim choked back on tears from humiliation, or he had just been hit. And the pain never fails to make him satisfied. He thinks he is a masochist, sometimes.

Then, it got worse when _she_ came. That girl, that _Dummkopf_. The girl who can't read. The girl who beat him up. The girl that Steiner kept hanging around on like he was an ornament and she was a _Tannenbaum_. He didn't mean to be so mean, that day. He just wanted to tease, really. A harmless joke.

But _Dummkopf, Dummkopf, Dummkopf_, they kept chanting and not stopping as she stood in the circle of laughing kids and he was one in them (Steiner was, too, but he wasn't chanting along. Rather, he was alternating on staring at her in concern as he was held back then glaring at him in _mörderisch_ rage), chanting along and he just couldn't stop at all because, the expression on her face was just so _darn funny_. He liked that expression; and how could he not? It's the face he craves to see every time something like this happens. It's a reward for being a complete _arschloch_, and it's his.

"Hey! _Dummkopf_! Can't you even read yet?" Oh, no. The words were unstoppable. His face was burning from the snow, and the immense excitement he can't help but feel.

"Go on. Read one word! Read something!"

Jesus, Mary, Joseph, why can't he stop?"

"_Dummkopf_!"

He just wanted to be a bit…well, mean.

Then came the first taste of her angry knuckle and the gasp he's held in waiting for this to happen releases. _Und_ it was gratifying, to taste blood on his mouth for the umpteenth time. The rest that came was complete and utter chaos.

At this point in time, Franz Deutscher would break any of your bones if you ever told him that he liked Liesel Meminger.

* * *

To be fair, he dislikes her a bit too much. Every time they would cross paths in the hallways of their school, on the sidewalks of the streets, he can't help but sneer and try to trip her. Sometimes she'd be so preoccupied with Steiner and she won't notice, _und_ she'd tumble and he'd laugh, and Steiner would be on him in seconds. Sometimes when she passes by without that idiot Steiner by her side like a leech, he pulls on her hair (or the collar of her shirt) and watches how she'd reel back and give him that angry stare. _Und_ he'd only laugh back at her because she's too easy to mess with. Is it worth it? For the playground bully, ja. It is.

Franziska always rolled her eyes at him when he'd tell her how stupid Liesel Meminger is, and how un-German she looks. _Why do you care so much, little brother? _She'd ask always and he'd only brush her off without a care.

Maybe she was a _Kommunist_. Because she looked like _one_.

This is what he thinks when he sees her arrive with Steiner, her father, and the Steiner father. Steiner again. The _saftsack _likes her, he was sure of it, and every one at school knows it. Rudy Steiner has a stupid crush on a _Dummkopf_. He wondered what would Steiner do if he set the _Dummkopf_'s hair on fire right here and right now. Along with those _things_ the _Bürgermeister_ called intellectual dirt. Maybe that fool would join it in his gist to be a hero. A pretty sight it'll make; a pair of fools dancing a midst the brazen fire. He scowled at the mental image.

They were on the opposite sides of the crowd, with the burning trash in the middle. And he sees it; the sudden disappearance of her smile when the _Bürgermeister_ says, _the end of communists_.

"_Sieg_!"

"HEIL!"

His eyes narrow.

"_Sieg_!"

"HEIL!"

_The Dummkopf isn't responding at all. I knew it._

At the last _sieg_, he cries out with conviction and ideas as he keeps his eyes to her. Not singing the anthem along? Why, that's suspicious, mm-hmm. They start to throw similar trash to the already burning ones, and this time, he throws all precaution and realigns to their side of the crowd. And he just _hates _the way she looked at those garbage. She can't even read! Why does she look at those things like they are sacred?

"Hey, Jesse Owens." Steiner stiffens and a little bit of ice returns to the _Dummkopf_'s eyes. He liked their stares. Defiant. Angry. Hesitant.

Steiner takes a small step forward. "Push off, Franz." _The nerve of him. _He shoves him back and revels on the slight look of pain on Steiner's face.

He looks at her when she says to leave Steiner alone. She really is a midget. Franziska is her age, yet Franziska is as tall as he is. Definitely, this stupid illiterate must have gotten her diminutive height to her communist trash ancestry. Then he realizes this is basically the first time they've exchanged words and not fists. "Did you like the speech, _Dummkopf_?" He takes great pleasure to her irritated glare. "Were you even listening?"

"What about it?"

"Your mother was one, wasn't she?" She freezes up at this point. "A communist. That's what they say."

He only meant to go this far. He only meant to rile her up, make her angry to the point that she wouldn't be able to sleep from being so disturbed. Maybe he wanted to see how Jesse Owens was also faring. A quick glance to Steiner, and he is not disappointed to see the raw, unguarded anger. But his blood was boiling with anticipation again. It was eager to see more. Eager to feed more. It would love to shove more. Spurred even further when she questions just whom he was talking about. Really. How idiotic of her. He hisses, "You even look like one."

Steiner cuts in like the clueless _arschloch_ he is. "What are you talking about?"

"I'm not talking to you, Steiner. She knows."

His hands burned when he shoved those things in their hands. Books. He feels disgusted.

"Burn a book. Go on! Burn a book." he orders, because he has every right to. Steiner stares at him in a defiantly confused manner. The_ Dummkopf_ has eyes only for the book. He snarls at them more viciously, "Go on! I'll be watching. Both of you."

Steiner throws his book. She takes a few more moments. He glared at her when she looked back, and he could swear, he saw _reue _as she threw her book into the flames.

What the hell was she supposed to be regretting about? She can't even read.

At this point in time, Franz Deutscher would only punch you in the face if you ever told him that he liked Liesel Meminger.

* * *

He discovers that he's wrong a few days after, after the _Lehrer_ made her read a paragraph in class, and she had done so.

The _Dummkopf_ can read after all.

Franziska, while he was in the middle of ranting about how Steiner was like a leech, how unimpressive the _Dummkopf_'s new ability to read, how Steiner would get distracted every practice training when the _Dummkopf_ would so much of smile at him, how much of an impressive annoyance she is and how her mere existence annoyed him; Franziska, she had outright asked:

"Do you _like _Liesel?"

What in Hölle?

"Ow!" She hisses when he throws her her book bag at her. "_Schlechter Verlierer!_"

"I carried your damned book bag for you. I agreed to hold your things in exchanged for an ear. _Why _in the world would you ask me that kind of thing? _Und_ what gives you the right?" His mouth could run for hours in his disbelief. Franziska, she only eyed him in displeasure, thoroughly unimpressed.

"Tommy Müller said that his cousin told him that boys like you pick on girls that you like." He scowls even more, resisting the severe urge to throw his book bag at her. "The mere fact that I haven't mentioned about her, but you did, is enough evidence. I want to hear it, Franz. Do you?"

"Rack off, Franziska. I don't like that _Dummkopf_. She can't even pronounce _ursprache_. Why would I want someone as illiterate as her?"

"_Ja_, but compared to you, you _blödmann_, she is so much better." He scoffs. "_Und_ he also said that denial is the first common reaction when faced with this question."

"Then, for the love of bloody god, can you _ask _him how I can prove you wrong that I do not like that brainless girl? Can you do that for me,_ du schlampe_?" He's been long over inhibitions when he calls this girl his_ ältere Schwester _degrading names ever since he's learned that Franziska doesn't give a rats-ass about his status as her younger sibling, and should not be called offensive names.

"Prove me wrong? Oh, Franz. You should switch places with me sometimes. Do you know how bloody irritating you are and how fed-up I am when you rant your mouth off about Liesel Meminger? Or, if not her, Rudy Steiner?"

"So, what? You got a problem?"

"_Ja_, I do!" She swings her book bag and viciously hits his back. "It's so terribly annoying and you're annoying."

Well, what would he answer to that, he wondered. None. He just gave her the reward of his silence with an offended glare as she huffed, shoving her bag back into his hands.

But she left him alone, much to his relief, but her question had rattled off several alarms in his head. His face felt awfully warm. He was convinced she was not right in the head, sometimes. How could she think that? How could she ask him that? Whom did she think he was? A schoolboy idiot like Steiner? Distracted and getting googly-eyed over some girl with guts and big words? His ego suffered quite a blow. No way. Not possible.

_Absolutely no way._

At this point in time, Franz Deutscher would only scream obscenities at you if you ever told him that he liked Liesel Meminger.

* * *

He sees her first.

His hand shakes unsteadily on the handle of his bike when he did. Franziska's words had always haunted his mind. Screaming in his thoughts. An itch to his knuckles that begged to hit someone or something, just to satisfy this foreign feeling. His heart clamors uncomfortably at the sight he is graced with. He was staring, he knew, and he'd rather crash into a truck or something if it meant that he'll forget all about this idiosyncrasy about the foolish girl. He tunes out the other kids' screams alongside him as he mulls over these things. He doesn't know why he was staring either. Why? Why indeed? Such a sight of Franz Deutscher; Franziska would never let him hear the end of it.

"Catch me!" she laughs.

Then he sees Steiner chasing after her.

Something bitter catches in his mouth, and it's what made him shout. Why her? Why that girl? The most important question, why Steiner? He felt so frustrated and irritated. Annoyed. Angry. Irrational. He turns and waves the paper with distaste.

"Hey, _Dummkopf_! Did you hear?" Why is it that of all people, it was _her_ that he addressed? _But he caught her attention anyway._ "England declared war on us!"_ That's what matters, isn't it?_

So, what?

"We're at war with England!"

Not like he cared.

There was this nagging fact that he did that only because to take away her attention from Steiner. He gnashed his teeth. _What the hell, Deutscher?_

"We're at war!"

Franziska had laughed at him when he told her what happened. She threw him a thimble and the emery bag she had been fiddling around with, and laughed wholeheartedly at his face while he burned in fury and embarrassment for her making a fool out of him.

"You don't like her, _ja_? Well, maybe you should stop being so obvious and telling me all of this! All you're making me do is look like an idiot trying to believe that you don't like her. Straighten up, little brother. You look and act like a fool."

"Why don't you believe me for once that, I. Do. Not. _Like. Her_?"

Franziska has this expression on her face as if she had just seen him offer a hand to a victim he himself had terrorized, but otherwise, offered him no words. No answers. Just an unamused shake of her head as he stared pressingly. He wanted them, the answers, that is. But he never got them. There was nothing to expect out of Franziska Deutscher at all.

At this point in time, Franz Deutscher would just shove you away if you ever told him that he liked Liesel Meminger, for at this point on, he was starting to _doubt._

* * *

_Mutter_ sent him out to give their laundry today. The basket is full for a family of four, and without a doubt, very heavy. It would be no good to use his bicycle. So he walked to his doom, with a mind of turmoil. Why?

_"Franz!"_

_"Ja, mutter?"_

_"Take the laundry to Frau Hubermann! From now on she is going to be doing our laundry, ja!? Don't ever dare to come to that dumm Braun! That witch tore a pair of my bloomers!"_

_Franziska grinned sort-of cruelly at him. His younger sister Frannie alternated her stare from her to him. He ignored his sisters to cater to his frustration, and strangely clammy hands._

_"Ja, Mutter!"_

That's why.

_Frau_ Hubermann doing their laundry meant the _Dummkopf_ was going to be there too. Does she wash clothes along with _Frau_ Hubermann? The thought made him want to spit on himself in disgust—embarrassment—at the mere thought of a girl other than his _ältere Schwester _handling his clothes. It's one's personal things. He ought he had the right to be. Doesn't Frau Hubermann already have a lot of clients? The Hermanns, the Giehls, the Durrs? _Und_ now them, the Deutschers. He should have reasoned to his _mutter_ about this.

"Out of the way!"

Too late. They'd already crashed into him, and he had dropped the already dirty laundry onto the muddy street. The first thing he sees is Steiner suppressing his laughter a few meters away, and a tense, mortified Liesel Meminger in front of him. His heart beat just sort of soared. She was the one who had crashed into him.

"Now what have you done, _Dummkopf_?" he sneered, just to ignore the fact that his pulse was racing way out his control. "Don't you have eyes? Use them for once."

"Are those your underwear, Franz?" Steiner laughs, and his fists got that special itch to bash the boy's face in. "Never took you for one that wore women's undergarments! Certainly suits a _Schwuchtl_ like you!"

"Rudy!" _Dummkopf_ gasps, but he sees it. The amused smile on her face. He grabs the front of her shirt despite the urge in his head that says _**don't**_ and shoves her down to the fallen laundry on the ground. Steiner stops laughing, and he zooms forward, but he doesn't allow him another step as he stares at her.

"What are you waiting for, _Dummkopf_? Pick them up." she stares defiantly at him as best as she could while on her hands and knees. _Und_ believe him, it's working. He was wavering, his ego poked and beaten around like a rag. He cannot take her stare any longer at all like he used to. It's the way her eyes spoke; impassioned and screaming conviction. Maybe even a pint of disappointment. For someone who doesn't say much, her eyes spoke a lot. Made her point out loud in the most silent way possible.

He shoves past Steiner while leaving the words that baffled her.

"29 Himmel. Return it within a fortnight _und_ don't you and your mother ever lose one article of clothing in there, or I will personally see to it that you suffer."

"Your family is mama's new customer?"

Was it his imagination, or did he just hear a tone of relief (with a little delight) in that question? It's a surprising moment. He's always heard her speak to him in the most rigid of manners. Coldly, if you will, and this slight tone of lightness; he didn't expect it. Not at all.

"_Und_ so what,_ Dummkopf_? What's it to you?"

"She was just asking, Deutscher." Steiner steps in front of her protectively.

"Mind your own business, Steiner."

"Liesel _is _my business."

_**There**_. He couldn't suppress the immense irritation any further from those words. He allowed himself to give a small shove that made Steiner stumble as he left. _Liesel is my business. _How infuriating.

At this point in time, Franz Deutscher would not do you any bodily or psychological harm if you told him that he liked Liesel Meminger. How could he, when he is busy beating himself up?

* * *

It's the same irritation that drives him forward when he ran against seven other boys from his class and not. He was irritated. Surprise, surprise.

He knew how important this day was. He dreamed and wished for this day from the early days for so long. It was his chance to prove himself worthy of being the Nazu ideal; he _is_ a squad leader of Hitler Youth, and yet, for him, that was just a stepping stone for something else bigger. If he ran with his best; if he beat all of these stupid other idiots; if he bested _Rudy Steiner _and the rest of the boys; if he won, then he would be taken for elite training. He dreamed of elite training for so long.

If he wins this, even if it were momentary, it would make him forget all these feelings. Feelings he didn't want. Feelings he didn't ask for. It was such a pain in the neck to deal with. He wasn't feeling normal. He wasn't _Franz Deutscher_. Franz Deutscher doesn't act like a schoolboy idiot because Rudy Steiner is supposed to be the schoolboy idiot.

Not him. Not Franz Deutscher.

When the hammer fell and the gun is shot, he ran. He ran with all his might. _This is no game. Not a time to play around. I have to win this. _It wasn't a long distance, but it still made his lungs burn and reddened his face when he tried too hard. The color of lemon is at the corner of his eye and it is catching up.

The schoolboy idiot is _grinning. _This fool.

_This is a game for him._

Unacceptable. He gritted his jaw together and pushed forward some more until his lungs burned and his skin prickled from the cool air and disregarded the fact that Steiner was three paces ahead.

But it simply just wasn't enough.

He could only say _Scheiße_ under his non-existent breath as Rudy cried and threw his arms up in victory. A glance to the Gestapo agent, and he is horrified to see that he was **_impressed_**. Not at him, but at Steiner. An all-too familiar bitterness and escalating disdain rose up his lungs, as Steiner shook hands thanked everyone they ran with, except for him. Not in a million years.

It wasn't much, but when Steiner approached to go back, he placed a foot in his way, and watched, with a little of his hurt pride mending with the thought of humiliation in front of many eyes, as the blond boy fell and stained himself with mud. The buzz died down soon enough.

"You should look where you're going next time." _Liesel is my business. _He allowed a little loathing to his tone. _I don't want her._

"Drop dead, Franz." Steiner hissed back.

_Liesel is my business. _"What's up, Jesse Owens? I thought you liked being black." _I don't want her._

For once, Rudy Steiner walking out on him with an angry demeanor while covered in filth didn't make it all better. It made things worse. It made him think of things that would happen right after. Because she was on the crowd. Because she watched. Because she saw that; what he did. She'd be on to Steiner like a mother hen, berating him things like, "_Why didn't you avoid him?" "Didn't you see that his foot was out?" "You Saukerl." "Come here quick, let's get that mud off before it dries out." _and lots of other things he'd rather not think of.

_Liesel is my business._

Why did he care? Why does he care so much?

_**I don't want her.**_

At this point in time, Franz Deutscher would not do you any bodily or psychological harm if you told him that he liked Liesel Meminger.

* * *

Frannie Deutscher is his _jüngste Schwester_. Unlike the rest of the Deutscher children, she had fair blonde hair that she had most likely gotten from their _vater _when his bald head as seen better days, and just to add another oddity to her that made her awkward to be with both him and Franziska, she was passive, and she had the voice of a meek stutter. She isn't as outspoken or open like any of their family, which makes it all the more confusing, and a little suspicious. Franziska deduced it was maybe because she was _mutter_'s bastard child from another man when their _vater_ was at war a few years ago.

But she never asked. And he never asked.

And they never talked about it again.

But Frannie is a good kid.

He never cared much for his sisters, most especially Franziska (not once did he feel an ounce of admiration, nor liking to her). Frannie, frankly, he's only ever felt indifference to her. If they leave him alone, then he'll leave them alone, too. All of them minded their own businesses, until Franziska gets an idea that disrupts the normalcy.

But it is not Franziska who gives him grief today. She wasn't even in the house when it happens. And _mutter_, and _vater_, they were all conveniently out of the house he called home.

Frannie was screaming literal bloody murder.

At the moment, home was _blutige hölle_.

He didn't know what to do as she screamed and cried for his help. His helping included him standing still as a lamp pole by the threshold of her door as he stared at the blood on her sheets.

_"Menstruation!_" Frannie was screaming at him, her pallid face red with...with anger? She had more of an embarrassed look than anger. "_Menstruation!_" Yes, damn it, he heard her, but what the hell is this _menstruation_ she keeps screaming at him? "_Nicht einfach stehen Sie dort!_ Get _mutter_! Or Franziska!"

"I-I can't!" Jesus, Mary, Joseph, was that a stutter?

"What do you mean you can't!?" He found this a rather good time to gawk at the intensity of Frannie's screams. "Get me _mutter_, Franz!"

"They're not here, okay!? _Halte die Klappe_!"

"Then get me someone female! A girl! If you have to get someone from the streets, then get. Me. A. _**Girl**_!"

He couldn't take her furious screaming anymore, so he did. He was more than glad he did. He was actually irritated enough with the thought of leaving her there to fend for herself, but there is also this looming, second thought that Franziska was wrong, and she needed to know.

Frannie was every bit of a pure Deutscher herself. It was just...hidden.

When he stumbles out of the house, it was the Dummkopf that greets him, hand poised to knock with their laundry being balanced in one hip. But he barely registers this, or barely cared whom she was. It was the fact that she is a girl, _und_ she was what he need just right this second to quiet down Frannie's agitated screams.

"Come with me." He grabs her stiff hand without a second thought and drags her inside, shoving aside the laundry to the side as he drags her to Frannie and Franziska's room.

"Deutscher," she growls, but is cut short when he pushes her inside the room where Frannie is in. His sister is now bawling her eyes out. Christ on the cross, even her crying was darn loud. Whatever this menstruation was, it made her show every bit of that Deutscher she truly had in her veins.

"Help her, or something." He mumbles, too flustered to say anything else, and exits the house once again to sit on the steps of his porch. For an hour, he sat there with his face buried in his hands and being rained on by the never-ending snow. Frannie's 'menstruation' problem is barely an important thought; it was the fact that it was the _Dummkopf_, the illiterate, the stupid girl, the girl Franziska claimed he liked; he'd held her hand. And it was not soft. It was calloused, and it was the same hands that had beat him up. And she was inside his home with his sister, helping her with the same hands. And she had the hands of a corpse. _Why isn't she wearing gloves at this time?_ He couldn't help but seethe.

He hears the door open. He doesn't look up. He didn't want to.

He hears her shoes scrape and step on the concrete cement of his porch. He doesn't look up. He didn't want to.

He hears her step down, and feels a light brush of her hair against his coat. He stiffens. He doesn't look up. He wanted to.

"_Herzliche Gratulation_," she says in a flat voice. It was tinged with slight amusement. "Your sister is a woman now."

"What?" He croaked back.

"A woman. Your sister is a woman now." She smirks. "She just had her first menstruation. I didn't know you had a sister, Deutscher."

"What the hell is this menstruation you keep spouting on about?" He growls. "Frannie kept screaming her head off about it. Is it a disease?"

Pure laughter burst out of her mouth. He was the only witness to it. Her laughter wasn't any of those repressed, lady's laugh. Her laugh was the way Franziska laughed when he said something she thought was stupid. While Franziska's laugh was cloying and cruel, hers was...just pure amusement.

That doesn't mean he liked it.

He pushed her off his porch and noticed, she was still grinning.

_She had a pretty smile. _He realized he thought this himself a second too late. _Scheiße._

"Ask your sister." She had a basket again. The sheets from Frannie's bed. He knew because he could see a slight stain of red. He could feel his skin crawl with disgust upon the sight of it.

"Go to hell, _Dummkopf_." _He wanted to thank her for her help._ His mouth was burning.

"Not when you go first." She struck her hand out so suddenly that he blanched back. Her fingers were red from the cold. Damn her, she was going to get a frostbite. "The change, Deutscher. And since I have another load with me, that would require 3 fives and a cent."

_Thank you_. "You'll get it when you return the sheets." _Go wear a pair of gloves, Dummkopf._

"_Nein_." She glares at him. "I helped your sister when you couldn't. Now, give it to me."

"..._Geht Es_." He glared right back, and dug into his pockets for any amount he could give. He retrieved 3 ones and a cent. She took them anyway, and she began to walk away. _He wanted to call her back._ So he can tell her he didn't really need her help. _He wanted to thank her._ He wanted to stain her dress with red like Frannie's sheets. _He wanted to tell her to wear a fucking pair of gloves. _"_Sausmensch_!"

She whirls around with the same frown she always had when dealing with him, and she looked almost offended. The reason why befuddles him because he doesn't know why. _Saumensch_? What, can't she handle a small insult? _You have a pretty smile_. "Just so you know, this isn't going to change anything, so you better not have any ideas. And stay away from my sister!"

She rolls her eyes at him.

"Wouldn't wish it, Deutscher." She starts walking, but then, on her fourth step, she turns around again, with the same, offended grimace. "You don't have the right to call me _saumensch_, Deutscher."

He never knew what she meant by those words.

Later on, while _mutter_ was tending to Frannie, and after he got educated enough (with a steadily increasing shade of red to his face) by Franziska herself about the very concept of menstruation, she had pulled him outside and demanded what happened to him and the_ Dummkopf_. How did she know? He told her. But there was no way he was going to tell her about what happened after she helped Frannie. That was his.

Interestingly enough, Franziska didn't have her cruelty in her that day. She didn't tease him.

"Well, did you say thank you?"

"What?"

He takes it back. She was as ruthless as ever.

"Gratitude, Franz. Did you say thank you to Liesel?"

In my head. "Why does that matter?"

She slapped him without batting an eye. A few on-lookers glanced. He hissed and pulled on her hair. Franziska crossed her arms.

"_Schlampe._"

"Go."

"What?"

"Go, you _blödmann_. I forbid you from returning to this house without a word of gratitude being given to Liesel."

"You can't do that." He snarls.

"I just did." She smirked. "Now, hurry along, little brother. The day isn't for long."

He didn't want to.

He had to.

Franziska' words are absolute. If he wanted to sleep in a warm bed and blankets tonight, he definitely had to. It's this thought that makes him retrieve his bicycle under her scrutinizing eye. To make her point, she even threw him his book bag, signifying her resolve that he'll sleep out in the cold if he doesn't do what he was told.

"_Fick dich_, Franziska." he snarls one last time, and doesn't bother to hear her reply: a terribly victorious laugh.

* * *

He finally finds her two hours later. Over the Amper, with a company he never liked. From afar, he always knew whom it was. It was the color of lemons. A shade lighter than of Frannie Deutscher's hair. The schoolboy idiot who always got what **_he_** wanted. The fool that had always gotten the _Dummkopf_'s heart.

What were they talking about?

He didn't care.

Why isn't she looking at Steiner?

He didn't care.

Why did she spit?

He didn't care.

He shouldn't care.

But his blood is boiling. It was that terribly familiar urge to spill blood. An itch to his knuckles. A hit on Steiner's face, a desire to hold those calloused palms of hers. She was wearing a red wine coat. Red. Red, like the blood on Frannie's sheets. Red, like the color he sees.

"You won't tell anyone what?"

They look at him, with utter surprise and horror. He didn't care about those looks anyway. He wanted red. Most of all, he wanted to know what Steiner wasn't going to tell. He knew what it is. A _secret_. Secrets are forbidden for they could be anything.

"Hello, Steiner." He tenses. "Hello, _Dummkopf_." He sees her arm shift; he knew that action _und_ what it meant. The apprehensive look to her face, Christ. That was just the dead-giveaway! "What's that behind your back?"

A second is all it takes.

He stepped closer.

She whipped that arm out of her back and he sees a _book._

It is given to Steiner.

God, this is getting old.

"Give it to me." He demanded. If Steiner cooperated, then he'd let them go unscathed. Or maybe a punch or two to Steiner's face. The _Dummkopf_ can shove his gratitude down her throat for all he cared. But seconds pass and Steiner did nothing and _**fine, gottverdammt**_, he asked for it, and the scuffle for the damned book began.

"Leave him alone!" _Ah, you can do better than that,_ **Dummkopf**.

"I said, give it to me!" He was hoping to make Steiner falter by shoving him against the steel railings, but if anything, it made the scuffle worse. He could see just how determined Steiner was on keeping him away from the book he had in his hand. "Give it to me!"

Steiner was so far off against the rail, you would have thought he'd given in.

But this is Steiner, the schoolboy idiot. As far as he knew, his loyalty to Liesel was knows no bounds.

And Franz Deutscher loathed him, more so, for dropping that book on the icy waters of the Amper. He felt so ridiculously stupefied from the boy's idiocy. Most of all, he couldn't believe himself for wasting a lot of energy all because of a damned book.

"What was that? What was it?" Every word escalated in volume as he demanded Steiner for answers.

It was then, the answer was given.

"None of your business, Deutscher."

_Liesel is my business._

Goddamn it.

Fuck the stupid book.

Fucking Steiner.

Fuck everyone that had everything to do with it.

Fuck him, for ever liking Liesel Meminger.

_Liesel is my business._

**_Fuck that._**

He gave in to the urge. He felt so furious at himself. He had never felt anger this raw; anger that he kept suppressed for the past two years. The last time he'd beaten up Steiner was two years ago as well, wasn't it? A week before he got beaten up by Liesel Meminger herself. He ignored her plead to leave Steiner alone. Hah, why would he do that? Steiner deserves every bit of pain, every split lip, every black eye. _**Red**, the color the runs down Steiner's chin._

It never faded even after his fist finally made contact and Steiner was by his feet. He never felt satisfied anymore.

"You're done for, Steiner." He seethes, his face tingling, as he turns to Liesel. "I'm reporting you." He's not.

"For what? Having a diary?"

_Don't fuck with me, Dummkopf. That didn't look like a diary._

"I know you're up to something." But she only stares up at him, defiant, and there is hate in there. He knew that look. Knew it all too well. It was the same hate she had two years ago.

It was only after he'd rounded the corner did his senses come back. It hit him in the gut; the way he punched Steiner earlier, as he suddenly slammed on his brakes. He never got the chance to say thank you, now, Franziska was going to have his head for what he did. _But does she need to know? _Yes. _She doesn't have to. _Maybe. _If she finds out, he'd have to apologize. _That's way past his pride. No way.

At this point in time, Franz Deutscher realized too late that he indeed, he liked Liesel Meminger.

* * *

At night the same day, he called her out for a reason. He wanted to go home now. He was cold, tired, and hungry. He can't go home at this state. And Franziska always knew when he was lying, so lying was out of the question. He expecting no reply. Nonetheless the notion that she'd come. After what he did, he wouldn't be surprised. He called her out for Frannie's bed sheets, and the last change he'd gotten out of Tommy Müller's shaking hands.

But she came anyway, and was not one bit happy.

He didn't care.

He just wanted to see her, anyway.

"Here," she shoves the basket in his hands with a strength that made him take a step back, and snatches the change out of his hands. "I told mama not to accept any more clothes from your family. We can get by just fine, we don't need you anymore. Of course she was this close to not agreeing, but then I told her just how you messed up all her hard work just about she was going to give me a _watschen_, and she—"

"_Halt den Mund_." He lazily interrupted, as he threw aside the basket. Her surprised, furious stare followed its direction.

"You_ arschloch_—"

He pulled on her raised arm and tugged her down the snow. In her surprise and fury, she was unable to stop the momentum of her fall as he followed her.

The _Dummkopf_ was just staring at him in a wide-eyed, scandalized manner. And believe it or not, he felt scandalized that she was looking at him like that. Why was she looking at him like that? What gives her the right to look at him like that when _he_ is the victim here? Who told her it was alright for her to mess with his head like she had been doing for the past few weeks? He's convinced that not only was she an idiot, she was also a witch. A dangerous one at that. She should burn along those books on a stake at the very center of it all.

She had messed with his head and is making him do things that are beyond his comprehension and understanding.

What did she do to him?

How could he let her do it to him?

He wanted to make her suffer.

_How?_

**What was it that she always refused Steiner from, again?**

Grin.

Growl.

Her eyes are wider and her anger is brighter than the shame he sees in her.

"Get off me," her words are biting. "Get off right now, Deutscher."

"What's wrong, _Dummkopf_?" He wanted to be a bit mean. _He didn't want things to be like this._ He wanted to see her cry. _He didn't want to make her hate him more._ He wanted to make her miserably angry. "Scared? Come on. Beat me up, if you can. Go on. Aren't you good at that?" _He wanted to shut the fuck up._

As always, the playground bully had effortlessly squashed his measly conscience.

"Let go!"

He grasped her face like it was a mere ball, fingers digging into the soft flesh of snow-burned cheeks savagely. She was struggling a bit more harder and faster now, but they both know, that no matter how hard she fought, in the end she would only tire herself out, and he wouldn't be tired from the effort of holding her down, because for what it's worth, Hitler Youth is a very demanding group for physical stamina and strength. What happened years ago, that was just sheer luck. He'd been weak. He was shame-worthy. But not today. Not now. Not ever again.

_Und_ he would be damned if he let something like that, happen again.

She was on the verge of screaming out when he pushed his mouth against hers.

Let the world know he's a grand loser when it comes to Rudy _verdammt_ Steiner with everything, but Steiner has lost in the one thing he's always wanted to win over the most.

The blood sprouts like a fountain of gore in his mouth when she gnashes her teeth at his lips, and she kicks him until he splurges into the icy waters of the Amper, with a bleeding mouth and cold victory on the marks he had made when he slipped off the snow.

"_Fick dich, du Arschloch_." she hisses, with tears burning her eyes as she wipes off his blood on her lips. _Red, the color on his lips, and what was once on hers_. "I won't ever forgive you for this."

He didn't care at all.

He cared about the name she had on her tongue when he kissed her.

* * *

**_Rudy._**


End file.
